Meeting Reyna
by FieldOfPaperFlowers
Summary: ON HIATUS. Scattered scenes from "Meeting Leo" - from Leo's perspective. Read only AFTER reading ML or this won't make sense, Not intended as a standalone story. Written before HoH.
1. Reyna Arrives

_A/N: I'm serious, this __**will not make sense**__ if you haven't read "Meeting Leo." This will not feature/explain every major plot point._

_Anyway, so this is a thing. Let me know if it's a thing you like._

_Disclaimer: I own nothiiiiing._

* * *

Leo liked many things. Girls, of course, were at the top of the list. Under that, shoving pizza in his mouth and fixing things and talking in Spanish—not that this last one came around much anymore. At Camp Half-Blood, everything was English or Greek. Lame.

Granted, at the moment he was lucky just to be alive. That anti-Gaea tanker engine had really gone wrong—he wasn't entirely sure why yet, since he was still stuck in the infirmary—and somehow the command "take out Dirt Face" translated into "explode into a billion tiny pieces and almost kill Leo." Hence the infirmary. So not only had Leo officially and spectacularly blown his chance to make good on his promise to "face-plant her hard, Leo-style," he had also landed himself an extended stay in The. Most. Boring. Part. Of. Camp.

Sure, great. Gaea was defeated (not by him, what else was new?). They didn't lose as many demigods as they could have. But still—being stuck on a cot in a corner all day? Bo-ring. Piper and Jason were taking a romantic, er, _leisurely_ tour of Greece and Rome at the moment, too, and hardly anyone else had bothered to come see him in their absence. Leo was going insane.

To make matters even worse, two of the Hephaestus kids had been recruited to take the _Argo II_ all the way to Camp Jupiter and back. Shane and Christopher, if he remembered right. Festus didn't like any of the other demigods; there was no way he'd cooperate with two noobs who had suddenly replaced Leo. But nooo, Leo was "in a really bad way" (as Will Solace had put it), so someone else had to pilot _his ship_ across the entire continental _Estados Unidos_ while he ate lemon jello and stared at off-white curtains.

Percy poked his head in. "Hey, dude. Doin' okay?"

Leo immediately brightened. The son of Poseidon was one of the campers least irritated by his puns. "Yeah, I've been fine for days, man, I told you. Hey, want to know where Satan gets his mail?"

"Not right now, sorry. The Romans are due to arrive any minute. But Will said you're good to go, if you want."

"Yes!" Leo pumped his fist and threw off his sheets. He was so excited to get out of these stiff infirmary clothes—all white, perfectly pressed, no grease stains at all. Bad look for a mind-bogglingly brilliant mechanic like him. So bunker first, then off to locate some caffeine. Another dumb thing about being bedridden: the infirmary had a strict no-coffee policy. If you asked Leo, it was their way of making people want to get better and leave.

So Leo ran as fast as he could (not very) to Bunker Nine, which was still basically his even though the rest of his cabin now knew about it, because no one quite dared to spend that much time with him and his catastrophe-causing pyrokinesis. He threw on a ratty CHB shirt (well stained, and he could name the projects each stain came from) and his favorite work jeans, and when he burst back out into the forest he recognized the shape of the Argo II in the sky. Already gasping, he took a deep breath and headed for the center of camp, the effective landing base.

He arrived just after the ship touched down, and as the serious-looking Romans came onto land in formation (the heck?), he went straight for Festus, who was whirring and clicking some shocking obscenities at Shane and Christopher, who appeared unaware. He lurched over to them, side stitches stabbing his—well, his sides. Being out of shape was one more lame thing about his life.

"Your dragon is insane," Shane complained, earning another rude name.

Leo clapped Festus on the neck in a friendly reprimand. "Aw, Festus is as sane as you or—you. Me, I'm pretty much nuts."

"We know."

He bowed and then continued in a hurry: "How did the carborators hold up? And what about the magic coat of grease up in the topsail mast, did that work? I wasn't really—"

Out of nowhere a purple-shirted force of nature slammed sharp into his chest, shoving him out of the conversation and into the side of the ship. Still recovering from his little run five minutes ago, it took Leo a minute to realize what had happened and focus.

The force of nature was a girl, a pristine flawless Roman girl probably his age, with dark brown hair perfectly French braided and an aquiline nose and the angriest black eyes he'd ever been glared at with. She scowled at him, fury blazing in every inch of her, and the strength of her forearm into his clavicle made him realize that the Fates really had in in for him. First Piper, then Thalia and Khione, and now her. She was _exactly his type, _strong and beautiful and eager to kill him. He felt his hair, his dirty unbrushed hair, heating up, and immediately he tried to smooth it back before it could catch fire.

"Hey, lovely," Leo said with his most fabulous grin.

Her expression somehow managed to darken even more, and she pulled an Imperial gold knife out of nowhere, pressing the blade cold and sharp under his chin. She shoved him harder against the _Argo_, calling him a string of unfriendly names. He didn't understand the ones that sounded like Latin, but the Spanish ones were unprintable. Wait—_Spanish_?

"Please don't break him, Reyna. We like him." Of course her name meant _queen_. The voice sounded like Percy, but Leo's vision was going a little blurry. "Plus he's the best repair boy we have."

_Great, thanks, Percy, point __**that**__ part out_, he thought, but she did at least release him. Reyna—now that he could think straight, that was the name of the other praetor, the one he never got to meet. The one that apparently held really big grudges. Hot flaming damn.

Reyna strode back into formation, her posture regal and unapologetic.

"Is she insane?" Leo asked Annabeth in awe, rubbing under his chin where the blade had left a lingering coldness. Frankly, the gorgeous praetor could be loonier than Annabeth without Percy, and he would have trouble caring. Annabeth rolled her eyes. She knew him a little better than he liked.

But who cared? Something not lame had finally happened to him.

* * *

His usual methods having the stellar success rate that they did, Leo decided to stick with them to catch Reyna's attention again. When Annabeth made the questionable decision to keep him around, he summoned all his non-caffeinated energy and bad jokes kept in reserve and he treated the girls to Leo At 150 Percent as they showed the Romans around camp. Annabeth barely tolerated him with a thin smile, but Reyna completely shut down, a coldly neutral mask that occasionally gritted her teeth. She was so not interested, but that had never stopped him before.

Eventually he needed a drink to refuel, though, so just for a moment he ran into Cabin Nine for his favorite coffeemaker—but when he came back out, the Romans were dispersing to move into their temporary cabins, and Annabeth and Percy (and Reyna) were nowhere to be found. Deflating a little, he flipped open his travel mug and took a looong draught.

Someone clapped him on the shoulder. He turned in surprise to see Nyssa, her hair pulled back in its usual bandana. Maybe she had come to congratulate him on surviving the tank explosion, or to profess her undying love (as girls were wont to do).

"Jake's iPod's acting up again," she said. "You think you can come take a look?"

Jake's iPod was actually a conglomerate of Apple and Olympian technology, and it was on the fritz more often than not. Leo nodded, trying not to be disappointed that repairs were all anyone ever wanted him for. "Yeah, sure, no problem."

"Great." As they headed back into the cabin, the lack of conversation led her to comment, "Are you not excited for the celebration? You seem awful quiet."

_Dios_ forbid he stop running his mouth for ten consecutive seconds. "Yeah, I'm great!" He grinned broadly, and if she could tell it was fake, she showed no sign of it. "In fact, you want to hear where Satan gets his mail?"

"No thanks," she said hastily, looking much too relieved to hand him off to Jake.

"His sinbox!" Leo finished triumphantly. Nyssa rolled her eyes, but she stopped asking if he was okay. _Fantástico_.

* * *

When dinnertime rolled around, Leo was less hungry and more frustrated. Really, he should have been used to people looking through him, but it would have been nice to get one single "hey, Leo, glad to see you're in one piece." On a whim he decided to skip the dining pavilion and instead went to a shed behind the strawberry fields to get some fresh air. Thankfully no one was around, because nothing screamed "lame" like a camp counselor–slash–Hero of Olympus sitting alone behind a crappy tin shed.

Holy Hephaestus, he was tired. Not from being almost blown up, but from being _lame_. Gods, the rest of the Seven had all these cool powers and love interests and intense skills, and what was he? The son of two mechanics, scrawny and short, useless and unimportant with an unappreciated sense of humor. For all of Tía Callida's promises of greatness, the greatest thing he'd done was accidentally start a war between the Greek and Roman camps. _Yeah, good going, self_, he thought, giving himself a sarcastic mental pat on the back. Pulling a screwdriver out of his tool belt, he began to scrape hash marks into the dirt.

But his pity party was interrupted by a clang from the other side of the tin shed. Leo jumped—he hadn't realized someone else was around. Geez, even his ADHD didn't work for him like it did everyone else. He called around the side, "Hey, is someone there?"

No one responded, so just to make sure it wasn't a loose monster or anything (that'd be just his luck), he clambered to his feet and stepped around the shed—and almost ran into Reyna. Gods, of course it'd be _her_ right now. Her eyes narrowed and her hands went to her side like she was going for her knife again, but he held up his hands and backed up.

"Whoa there, pretty lady," he said hastily. "No need for violence. I'm not here to talk to you, sad to say."

She clenched her hands into fists but didn't kill him. Progress. "Why aren't you at dinner?" she asked coldly.

"Not hungry," he said, and without thinking he added, "Not that they're likely to notice whether I'm there or not." Reyna looked doubtful, and he wasn't sure he wanted to explain that train of thought to a semi-homicidal stranger.

"But anyway," he continued, trying to sound upbeat, "I'm just, you know, hanging out over here on this side of the shed. You can sit on that side of the shed, and that way neither of us has to leave, and you don't even have to look at me." She looked him over suspiciously, but when he didn't, for example, pull out a gun and start shooting, she slowly backed up to her side, and he turned and sat back down on his.

Leo was now interested in something other than examining his life failures: why was the gorgeous and praetorly Reyna skipping dinner and hanging around a rundown shed? He itched to ask, but he knew as soon as he opened his mouth she'd be gone, so he went back to scraping lines in the dirt. At least if he could keep her around for a little while, she'd see he didn't usually attack Romans on sight. Of course, when she stopped wanting to kill him, she'd start ignoring him altogether, but he'd long been used to that pattern in girls.

But he got a second big surprise, because after a few minutes he heard her ask, "Are you usually this accommodating?"

He chuckled, more out of shock than anything. "No," he called back. "Normally I try my best to be as unaccommodating as possible. It's part of my ability to simultaneously charm and annoy the _infierno_ out of people."

"That I believe. The annoying part, anyway."

Though her tone was coldly neutral, merely stating fact, he laughed again. She found him irritating; she'd fit in well here. "I told Jason once, don't insult my ability to annoy. I'm glad you can appreciate it."

"I don't think 'appreciate' is the word I would use," she said.

"I know." He was quiet again for a moment as the thought sank in. "I don't think anyone would use the word 'appreciate,' actually." Nyssa certainly wouldn't, or Annabeth, or even Jason and Piper.

"Probably not."

Shifting into a grumpy crouch, Leo kicked the heel of his shoe against the wall of the shed. "You want to know why I'm actually out here?" he asked, his smile gone. She probably couldn't care less, but semi-homicidal stranger or not, he wanted _someone_ not to overlook him.

A second passed, and he was preparing to sit back down, but then she asked in an inscrutable tone, "Why?"

"For the next two weeks we're going to celebrate a war that almost killed us all, me included." He wasn't sure if she'd heard about his big explosion, but if nothing else, the fact of war put everyone's lives in danger. "But if I'm not the most enthusiastically insane person there, it will be all, What's _wrong_, Leo? Aren't you _happy_, Leo? Here, do you want to fix my _iPod_, Leo? Because _Dios_ _forbid_ I ever be upset about anything." And there was no middle ground: he irritated people whether he was excited and nuts or shut up entirely. He kicked the shed again, feeling the reverb in his toes.

Reyna was quiet. Maybe thinking, maybe looking for the most PC way of saying _man up, stupid_. "Have you mentioned this to any of your friends?" she asked finally. "The rest of the Seven, or the Vul—Hephaestus cabin?"

Leo snorted. "The other six are so happily paired off, Gaea could start to wake again and they probably wouldn't even notice. And the other Hephaestus campers . . . I don't know. I've never really fit with them. They all think I'm a scary freak." He could just hear her thinking _what, did you shoot at this camp too?_ so he hurried to say, "_Not_ because of the eidolon. Because—" Suddenly he cut himself off. If there was any way to scare off a pretty girl, mentioning that you catch on fire was it. "Never mind."

She didn't ask. She probably didn't care all that much. But eventually she said, "You could just not show up at the celebration."

Leo shook his head even though she couldn't see him. "That's not an option, and you know it. They'll want to have me there with the Seven."

"I don't know, I was considering not going."

He was skeptical. "Praetor of New Rome? Yeah, no chance. They'll want you there too." Tapping on the dirt with his screwdriver, he screwed up the courage to ask, "Why don't _you_ want to go? Too undignified?" _Oh, too far._ Dios mio, _she's really going to kill me now_, he thought, but at least he would go down swinging.

But no blades flew around the shed. In a regal voice worthy of her name, she said, "Not quite. I'm just aware that I don't have much of a place there."

He hadn't thought about that. He'd assumed that, like Percy and Jason, she had mobs of fans and friends, but if she was normally as serious and solitary as he'd heard, maybe her being an outsider wasn't such a long shot.

"It's not a problem," she continued. He could practically hear her raising her chin. "I'm perfectly used to it. I just usually have duties as a praetor that make it inconspicuous."

A person in authority whose solitude was constantly overlooked. Gee, that sounded familiar. Even if his being a camp counselor was outweighed by his being an insignificant repair boy. "_Qué cabrón_, who'd have thought a praetor and a repair boy would have the same problem," he muttered.

Reyna said nothing. Maybe she hadn't heard him; maybe she'd been so offended at being compared to him that she'd decided to stop talking to him altogether. Well, no time like the present to annoy her further.

"If you want somewhere out of the way to hang out," Leo offered, "you can come watch me work in Bunker Nine. Nobody else really goes there." He hoped she would, but he wasn't getting his hopes up or anything.

Her pensive "I might" was the best thing he'd heard all day.


	2. Leo Gets Tunnel Vision

_A/N: I kind of miss Reyna's POV; the poor sweetie is such a breeze to write. Also, I was really excited to see all these familiar names (plus some new ones) following/favoriting "Meeting Reyna." We're all in this together . . ._

* * *

Leo had had the luck to happen upon Reyna after he picked up his morning coffee, and since she wasn't doing much he showed her to Bunker Nine. "You can stay or go, whatever," he said once they got there, trying to come off as nonchalant, but when he glanced over his shoulder she was staring around in awe, and eventually she even sat down. Score one for the repair boy.

Unfortunately he couldn't just sit and talk to her. He had a couple of automatons-gone-wrong to fix, and that required his complete attention. But half an hour later, halfway through the project, he needed some bolts and his hands were both tied up holding the parts together, so he called for his wayward assistant, Buford. It took a minute, but eventually he came. Quickly he screwed the bolts in place, because who knew how long the thing would stick around.

"You named your table?" Reyna asked incredulously.

Leo looked up, and as soon as he did, the table hightailed it toward Reyna, bouncing on its three legs and piping a little steam out the vents on his side. Confused, Leo set down his wrench and came over to study him.

"He's never done that before," he muttered, but when he reached out to grab him, he skittered to Reyna's other side.

"Do all your tables walk?" Reyna asked as Leo chased the little table around her.

"Just Buford," he panted. Kinda pathetic how quickly he got out of breath. "He's not usually this ornery, though. _Buford!_" The table froze, and he grabbed it.

Reyna raised an eyebrow. "Maybe he just likes me," she suggested, in a tone that made Leo think she was making a joke. She had a secret sense of humor, he was pretty sure, and if she was comfortable enough to share it with him, that had to be a good sign, right?

But Buford was wriggling like a puppy at Reyna's side, which was really strange for him. Leo glanced between her and the table, trying to deduce the source of the fondness, and when he realized what it probably was, he felt his face heat up. Buford wasn't emotional, but generally speaking, he liked what—or who—Leo liked. "Probably a glitch," he said.

* * *

Leo wasn't entirely sure what had possessed him to wolf-whistle when Chiron commended Reyna at the amphitheater; he had just kind of done it and it wasn't that he felt _bad_, he just really hoped she wouldn't stab him the next time she saw him. So he was pleased to see that she sat with the Athena table at dinner and then stayed with them for the swordfighting tournament—a.k.a., she didn't sit with the Seven and attempt to eviscerate Leo. While at any other time he would have preferred her around, he thought it might be in his best interests to wait a little while.

As he watched different Greekies try to fake-kill each other, though, it was hard to ignore the fact that his six friends had paired off as usual and were getting . . . _snuggly_. This was a clear invitation for him to wedge himself into the mix. Using his powers of shortness (that was all they were good for), he slid over to where Jason had his arm around Piper and, very carefully, put _his_ arm around Jason and leaned his head on the taller guy's shoulder.

"How do you like the games, sugar plum?" Leo asked, widening his eyes sweetly.

"Man, get off," Jason grumbled, pushing him away, but both he and Piper were trying not to smile. Irritation mixed with amusement. Success. Time for his next victim. Hazel and Frank? Eh, Frank had somehow managed to bulk up even more in the last year, so Leo, in all his brilliantly attractive scrawny _maravilla_, wasn't sure he wanted to put himself in a position to irritate the dragon boy. Percy and Annabeth, then. He began to pick his way along the bleachers, but it was just his luck that his foot caught on one of the tiers and he went splat. Very impressive. He hopped to his feet, rubbing his stinging chin, and looked around to make sure no one had seen.

No one on the left, no one in the center, but on the right—the Athena cabin was looking, and there toward the edge of the group, Reyna was looking. She had seen. Gods _damn_ it.

"Come sit, Leo," said Annabeth from the next row up, patting the seat in front of her. She was leaning into Percy, who looked perfectly comfortable where he was. Leo plopped his butt onto the seat, sneaking a look back toward the scary-smart cabin, but the praetor's attention had been distracted by something else. He wasn't sure if he was grateful or disappointed.

"Clarisse is up next," Annabeth said with a mischievous smile at Percy.

He squinted down at her opponent. "Five drachmas says she rips the other guy's head off."

"Gambling is poor use of money," she reprimanded him. "Besides, I've already put my wager on her."

Leo craned his neck to look down at the arena. Yep, that was definitely Clarisse's garish armor. He was glad he had not signed up for this event, but it was still pretty cool to see everyone go at it. "Man, you think they do stuff like this at Camp Jupiter?"

Annabeth looked at Percy, who shrugged and said, "Yeah, I guess. The war games are a little, uh, maim-ier than ours, I guess, but the idea behind it's the same. Reyna's a fair referee, so there's not usually much cheating."

"Plus Roman honor and all that," Leo guessed.

Percy nodded and got up for a bathroom break. With him gone, Leo didn't feel safe around just Annabeth, but as he was scooting away she said a little loudly, "Are you looking forward to seeing the Romans?"

"I guess, as long as no one kills me. I mean, if Reyna's greeting yesterday was any indication—"

"I don't even know," Piper sighed, and Leo looked up to realize she'd been heading this way and the question had been aimed at her. She slumped onto the seat beside Annabeth, and while the female species was foreign and elusive to Leo, he hung around for a minute at the edge of the conversation. "The celebration's a good idea, and I get that we're all supposed to be getting along now. I just . . . I'm having trouble with it."

Annabeth looked at her sympathetically. "I know, I'm sorry. That's not a fun thing to have to deal with."

"Just—" Piper groaned. "_Ugh_. I can't be _mean_ to her, I'm sure she's a perfectly nice _person_, but do I have to be _friends_ with her?" She tugged on her braids in frustrated emphasis, looking like she wanted to cry.

"Look, I'm sure Reyna's not going to try anything on Jason while she's here, it's a—"

"Wait, Reyna what?" Leo blurted, and they looked at him in shock, like they had forgotten he was there. Amazing how silence made him invisible.

Annabeth gave him a hard _go away_ look, but Piper had known him longer and trusted him more. "Reyna likes Jason," the daughter of Aphrodite said, her brow creasing. "Or used to like him, at the very least, and Jason won't tell me anything." She glanced at Annabeth before adding, "I'm pretty sure she likes Percy too."

The blonde looked surprised, but she didn't deny it. "I never told you that."

"Oh, be serious. You two cling to each other when she's around."

"We do not!"

"You so do. Anyway," Piper said to Leo, "obviously I'm not exactly big on the idea of Reyna right now."

"But like I was trying to say, it's a diplomatic vacation, she's really not going to start anything," Annabeth interjected, but whether or not Reyna _started_ something didn't change whether she _wanted_ something, and Leo and Piper both knew this.

"Don't say anything, okay, please?" Piper asked Leo seriously.

"Yeah, yeah," he promised. "Your secret's safe with me." It really was, even if everyone still seemed to think he wanted war between the camps. She was his best friend, and he wasn't stupid. He headed off to bother Frank and Hazel, and as he left, he heard her complaining, "I mean, come on, there are plenty of important boys she could like, and she has to go for my boyfriend?"

Of _course_ Reyna had a thing for the praetorly type. He chalked the sick feeling in his stomach to the irritated look on Frank's face. Why did it even matter? He'd liked plenty of girls on first sight, and though none had ever actually stuck around, he told himself he knew she would leave and it would be just like all the other times.

He tried to put it out of his mind, but the only other thing significant enough to replace it was the anti-Gaea tanker that had gone boom. Its carcass was still in a corner of Bunker Nine, waiting to be looked at (or ignored forever), and there was no one better for the job than the awesome guy that had gone boom with it.

Leo ran into Reyna between the swordfighting tournament and the fireworks, and without thinking about it he invited her back to the bunker. The greater shock was that she actually accepted, not that it was a long night: she was tired and fell asleep at his table before eleven, while he stayed up all night working on the tanker.

The problem wasn't that it needed to be fixed, necessarily—what were the chances of Dirt Face rising again in their lifetimes?—but that he just needed to know what had gone wrong. It was like a headache needling the back of his head. Why had it exploded? Had it been his wiring, or had Gaea's power tripped something, or had something else entirely gotten inside it?

So since all the explosives had been used up in the explosion, Leo just basically dismantled the whole thing (or what was left of it), going piece-by-piece in reverse, evaluating position and quality and anything else that might have contributed to the blowup. Time was irrelevant; he _would_ figure this out.

Everything looked fine until he cracked open the innermost panel, where the wiring was totally shot, even though it should have lasted through many such explosions. Oh, geez. Yeah, there was no way this was his mistake, but he still should have caught it. Pulling his welding goggles over his eyes, he stuck his head up in there and peered around, brushing his rough fingers against the jacked-up wire ends. Ugh, he could fix this. But he'd have to use his fire.

Nervous, Leo glanced toward Reyna at the table. She lay slumped over, still and quiet other than the rare whispery snore. There weren't any windows in the bunker, but the clock on the opposite wall read just after six, so he figured he still had plenty of time before she would wake up. He creaked slowly into a standing position and went to grab supplies.

It didn't take long. He had to dig a little while to find the right consistency and material of wire, but once he had it, he took two big handfuls and dropped it all into his favorite fireproof bucket. A fire was already burning in the hearth (he was always just a bit cold, probably had to do with running a higher-than-normal internal body temperature), but he needed a clean fire to work from. With a flick of the wrist he dropped a blaze in, letting the fire fester for a minute so it could reach full height. Then he stuck his head back in the torn-apart tank, peeled out the ruined wires, and dropped them in a pile at his feet for recycling, if they were good enough for that. Something clicked in his inner timetable: he reached into the bucket, grabbed some of the wires glaring white with heat, and tilted his head sideways as he began to route them into place. They were almost all set in place when he reached back in and heard the appalled shout:

"¿_Qué haces_?"

Leo's head jerked up and he looked back toward Reyna, the blood draining from his face. She was awake, and she was _pissed_. He couldn't even appreciate that she was pissed in Spanish. He hurriedly placed the last wire, wiped his hands on his pants in case there was any trace of ember, and walked over to her. Maybe, just maybe, she was upset that he'd let her fall asleep in his bunker instead of taking her back to the Athena cabin. Maybe she hadn't seen his fire power. _Please, please, if there are gods on Olympus, let it be that,_ he prayed as he forced a grin. "Morning, _reina_."

She refused to be dissuaded, even by the Spanish _r _that usually made her blush. "What was that?" she asked, her tone sharp as she pointed in a jerking motion at his fire bucket. Oh, _mierda_, she had definitely seen his fire.

Tilting his head, Leo tried to evaluate her, to figure out what the best approach would be. She was visibly upset, but he wasn't totally sure why. Maybe she thought he was a liar, or a sneak, or a dumb party magician, he had no idea. So he went with the cocky approach. "Only the most awesome demigods get special superpowers," he grinned.

She clenched her jaw, disbelieving. "Superpowers?" This was it. Either she'd stick around or she wouldn't. He would try not to feel the loss too badly when she ran for the hills.

He held up his unharmed hand. There was some oil smeared on it, left over from dismantling the tank, but his hand was clear—no burns, no scars, just rough skin from working in a machine shop since he could hold a screwdriver. She examined it cautiously, almost scientifically, pursing her lips in curiosity. Dios mio, _maybe I'm not totally screwed._ "That's not all," he said, daring to quirk a small grin as he let flames burst over his entire hand. Inhaling sharply, she stepped backward, but he had the fire under control. Balling the flame up, he tossed it from his right hand to his left and back, always careful to keep it close and tight.

She stared at his hands. Unless he was misreading her, she seemed . . . impressed. "What is that?"

"Pyrokinetics. It's a once-in-a-billion-years Hephaestus thing." He grinned, proud and mischievous. Or at least trying to be.

With some effort, she tore her gaze from his hands and looked him straight on. Her eyes were dark and focused, putting these pieces together. "This is why the others think you're a—?"

"Scary freak?" he completed. She had actually paid attention that first conversation?

"Yes."

"Yep," he said, popping the _p_. He was pleased, but he wasn't fully convinced. Did _she_ think he was a scary freak? This might be too much, even for an all-powerful praetor.

But Reyna's expression was impressed, almost playful, her guard down, and as she stood there looking at him he realized in a rush of relief that _she wasn't afraid of him_. He manipulated the ball of fire, played with it, careful to keep it under control, but showing off a bit now that she hadn't screamed and fled.

"Cool," she said, forming the word deliberately, and he grinned when he realized she had made . . . a pun. On purpose. Holy Hephaestus, he _knew_ she had a sense of humor, he _knew_ it, and now she was looking at him proud of it, challenging him to call her out on it. The damn girl was secretly funny on top of everything else. Oh, he _liked_ her.

In that moment Leo's brain sparked and he wondered how it would feel to press Reyna against the table and kiss her, kiss her silly, until both their lips tingled hot and numb and he found out exactly what her waist felt like under her clothes—

But Annabeth and Piper had made it clear that Reyna wasn't interested in repair boys. She wouldn't welcome it.

So, painfully, he stepped away, hardly daring to look her in the eye, and he went back to the only thing he was good at—fixing nonorganic things.


	3. not an update D:

Hello, friends. Sorry, this isn't an actual update.

For those of you not following me on Tumblr, my motivation for this story has totally disappeared in the last few days. But in a last-ditch effort to summon some inspiration (and more important, not abandon MR), I want you guys to recommend scenes for me to do. It can be from "Meeting Leo" or not. Just something that YOU want to see from Leo's perspective.

Peace and love,

Holly

* * *

_I'm sorry it's come to this, so here, have the first draft of a scene that I started last night. I don't know if it will actually make it into MR, but maybe._

"So then I got out my handy dandy Sharpie and drew tattoos on my massive, rippling biceps." Hanging over the back of his chair, Leo pushed up his sleeve and flexed one scrawny arm to demonstrate, tracing over where a few of the tattoos had been. "They said 'hot stuff,' 'Leo's the man'—you know, understated truths like that."

Reyna rolled her eyes and shook her head, laughing. "Really. I have a hard time seeing Hazel putting up with that. And how exactly did Narcissus take this truly intimidating rival?" She propped her elbow up on the back of her chair and leaned her cheek against her forearm. He tried not to stare.

"Um . . . oh, it went great. He and his crazy fangirls only tried to kill me, like five times. Luckily, I'm as brave and survive-y as I am funny and good-looking, so it was hardly a challenge." He shook his curls and grinned at her.


	4. Why Leo LOVES Salsa

_**A/N:**__ This was a popular suggestion, and I got really excited to write it. It's just the one scene, pretty short but y'know, something's better than nothing, right? We'll just agree to pretend I wrote about Leo's insecurity/jealousy during the canoe incident day. Maybe I'll get back to that eventually._

* * *

On a mechanical level, these speakers sucked. They were old, and they didn't sound as pretty as they could, plus Leo had to smack them on the side with a wrench to keep the sound from warbling. But all the suckage was pretty minor when he compared it to how awesomely loud the music could get.

Leo liked to have music going when he worked—he could focus on it instead of drifting off into thought and realizing two hours later he hadn't worked at all. It created a distraction from distractions. Latino dance music was the best, easily, since it was so upbeat and he could find songs that didn't have words.

His mom used to play it too. On long days in the shop she'd take a half-hour break to pull Leo away from his crayons, turn up the radio, and dance, just for a little while. Salsa was always her favorite, and even though he had been so much shorter than she was, she would only laugh, happy and open, every time she had to lean down to spin under his arm. Sometimes he wondered if she would have kept dancing with him as he got older and (a little bit) taller. Somehow he thought she would have.

Aunt Rosa had never been much into salsa, though that probably was more "_mi sobrino es_ _un diablo_" and less "gee, I question my foot-eye coordination." The only time he'd been able to practice with someone else was at his third foster home, with the Martinezes, who happened to be, like, second-generation _mexicanos_ and still kept up with the culture. He danced with them twice before he ran away; it hurt too much. So that left him with Miss Invisible ("Vizzy," if he felt flirty) as a dance partner, who was only good for so much, so he usually just tried to listen to the music and work.

Tonight he smacked the speakers and blared his salsa music so he could look over his plans to expand the _Argo II_, arguably the most fabulous warship ever but still good for a tune-up or two, especially since these days it was carting two camps' worth of demigods across the country and back. Promising himself he would get out to the barn dance thing once he had his blueprints marked up and ready to go, he spread the engine's plans out on the table in front of him, his back to the door and the clock.

The music didn't provide a very good sense of time passing, so Leo had no idea how long it was before he was spending more time stepping in time to the music than he was actually thinking about the _Argo_. He told himself to get back to work (and he was pretty intimidating, if he said so himself) but his feet kept moving and his mind kept wandering and it wasn't until he spun around in a turn single that he realized he wasn't alone anymore.

Reyna was standing by the door, watching him in clear surprise and kind of cowering, either at his dancing or at the loudness of the music. She had clearly come from the Mr. D–sanctioned dance—she was wearing an unfairly clingy black shirt and dark jeans and even heels, _hijo de puta_. He stopped himself abruptly, grabbing the table so fast he almost got whiplash, and for a minute they just looked at each other. How long had she been there? He could feel his hair and his face heating up, so he tried to ask her, "You missed the bad boy supreme?" She couldn't hear him over the music, but to his surprise she drew nearer and—Holy Hephaestus—offered him her hands. Without thinking, without needing to think, he took them.

She held hands just right. Not too tight, not too loose. Despite her denial at dinner, he suspected that she could dance, a guess further confirmed when she leaned in and yelled in his ear, "How well do you dance?"

Ooh, sounded like a challenge. Time to surprise _her_ for once. He grinned. "How well do _you_ dance?" he shouted back. It occurred to him that he could turn down the music, but nah, the thought was gone as soon as it hit him, because she was smirking at him. Yeah, challenge accepted, scary praetor lady.

Moving from muscle memory, Leo held her right hand and touched his right hand to her waist (_agh, don't think about it_) as she set her left hand on his shoulder, and the two of them began to step forward and back. The music was fast and loud but the move was simple enough, and as they both gained confidence, they spiced it up. A few _rumba_ side steps, figure-eight swivels. Part of him relaxed—he knew salsa—but the rest of him was as tense as compressed spring steel. She was here, she was dancing with him. Now he just needed to not mess it up.

Outside turn, inside turn. Oh gods, he hoped his hands weren't sweaty. Funny, when his mom or the Martinez girls flicked their hands out to the side like Reyna did, it never had quite the same effect on him. Ignoring his smoldering hair, he turned under her hand and spun her again, in a triple turn this time. Not too hard, but she smiled to herself as they came back together, and he caught her eye and grinned.

His mom would have liked her, he was sure. Reyna was dedicated and smart and talented and funny, and apparently she could salsa dance too. By all the gods, was there anything she _couldn't_ do? They kept moving together, apart, together, but he was hardly thinking about dancing anymore.

They were so close now. He was a little out of breath, and his pulse was pounding behind his ear, even though at some point they had faded out of the dance. Now his hands were already on her waist and his eyes were on her mouth. Good Lord, what a mouth. Her lips parted and like an idiot he went for it, leaning in to press his mouth to hers because Leo Valdez was nothing if not an impulsive skirt-chaser, for this one skirt at least.

But he felt the force of the meeting and part of his brain sparked, recognized that she had been coming toward him too. Neither of them could breathe, he was waiting to be pushed away, but instead her arms went warm around his neck—and he was kissing her, and she was kissing him, with the music pounding in the air around them.

And _oh dear gods_ he had wanted this all week, and she was kissing him even though she knew he wasn't Jason and she _liked_ it, and how had this happened, he didn't know, he was just glad it had. Here, now, as his fingertips moved up her neck and along her perfect Roman face. Unbelievable. Gods bless all those other rejections.

_Dios mio, querida_, Leo thought, warmly, but he must have accidentally said it out loud because Reyna gave a happy little sigh and held onto him tighter.


	5. The Worst Welcome Ever

_**A/N:**__ scenic97 asked (and so did Demitria, some time ago) whether I knew Spanish or used a translator. I do know Spanish, and while I'm not __**fluent**__ I do know it well enough that I don't have to use a translator, for these stories at least. I try to keep it simple enough here that even non-Spanish speakers can at least guess the meanings._

* * *

Leo got very little sleep either of the next two nights, and when the _Argo II_ took off to take the Greeks to Camp Jupiter, he spent the morning bouncing around the ship. It didn't escape his friends' notice.

"Hey, you find some super-awesome blueprints or something?" Piper teased him, very much at ease nestled into Jason's side.

"Nah, no, no," Leo said, peering up at the mainsail with the world's silliest grin on his face. "I'm just looking forward to California, I guess." Hot damn, was he looking forward to California. And the salsa-dancing, pun-making lady praetor waiting for him there. Even the brief spot of bad weather that they ran into at noon couldn't dampen his mood.

They made up the time, and they docked above New Rome almost an hour before they thought they would. As soon as Festus gave the all-clear, Leo was off the ship, hopping down the side and scanning the crowds for Reyna. It was a little hard to tell all the Romans apart, with their purple shirts and way-too-good posture, but then he caught sight of her. Full armor and a pristine braid and looking scary to make up for hurrying in late. It couldn't be anyone else.

Summoning all his Super-Sized McShizzle powers of stealth, he crept around the edge of the mob until he was practically right behind her, and then he shouted, "Queen-face!" and threw his arms around her. For half a second he got to enjoy the feel of her so close and warm. And then she flipped out.

Reyna grabbed Leo's arms, her grip sharp on his wrists, and twisted his arms over her head and across each other, so that in that other half-second he ended up doubled over, wincing as he looked up at her. Eventually she focused on him, realized who had grabbed her, and released him. He straightened, a little confused at her frown.

"You shouldn't attack someone from behind like that," she said. She didn't seem, er, thrilled to see him, but she also had dark circles under her eyes, so he suspected she was dragged-out tired.

Maybe his high-quality sense of humor could help. "Do antagonistic strangers usually call you 'queen-face' before they hug you?" he asked. "If so, I'm highly offended. I had to work hard to come up with that name. They should at least pay me a tax or something."

She stared at him, unamused. Ouch, tough crowd today.

"You seem especially grumpy. How long have you been up, _dulzura_?"

That did get a reaction. "Don't call me that!" she snapped, glancing around like there might be spies listening in. Unlikely—the chatter was so loud out here, he could barely hear _her_, and he definitely couldn't make out anyone else's conversations. "It's been . . . a long few days, but nothing I can't handle. I'm fine."

Leo brightened. "Aw, you missed me!" He tried to hug her again, but she blocked it, the heels of her hands hard against his collarbones.

"Don't." She dropped her arms but kept an eye on him in case he tried to move toward her again.

Not a PDA day. Okay. Stroking his chin, he looked her over and shook his head. "You need hot chocolate. Preferably with some coffee snuck in there, too."

"I have to be here."

No, she didn't. "Meh, we Greekies can take care of ourselves for an hour. Let's go"—and not taking no for an answer, he tugged her toward the big long street between New Rome and the barracks, following his intuition and the wafting aroma of espresso.

_I like this street_, he decided as they made their way down it. There were a billion things to do, and it sent his ADHD into overdrive. A machine shop—he'd have to check that out later. An ice cream shop—Reyna might like to visit that later, once the Greeks had settled in and didn't need so much supervision, might make a fun date. An armor shop—maybe she liked that too, given her war-themed fashion sense, so he'd have to see if they offered gift cards or something. Gods, there was so much to do, and he just wanted to tear through every single shop with the girl at his side—who seemed quiet and a little less bouncy and giddy than he did, but what else was new. He had yet to meet _anyone_ who could get as bouncy and giddy as he did, especially when he was holding the hand of a powerful, beautiful, funny lady. Besides, she was probably still trying to figure this out—so was he—so he didn't rib her about her calmness.

Eventually Leo found the coffee shop, and before Reyna could say anything he bounced up to the barista and said, "A large coffee and a large hot chocolate with three massive marshmallows, please." He grinned over at her, showing off just a little, but the corners of her lips barely even twitched, and even then he wasn't sure whether she was suppressing a smile or a frown. Strange, even for her.

The two of them sat down at a table in a corner, and to be honest he was still giddy as _mierda_, because he'd waited three days to talk to her and here she was, finally, and now they could figure this whole thing out. He downed a fourth of his coffee in one swallow and started to jitter his heels against the base of his chair, watching as the hot chocolate melted a little of the tension from Reyna's shoulders. "See, that's better, isn't it?" he prompted, reaching out to touch her arm.

She leaned away from him. "Rather." Still remarkably chilly, even with the slight improvement.

Trying not to lose faith, Leo pressed onward. "So now that you've filled your grumpy quota for the day—"

"You assume I have a limit."

"—can we talk about the kiss?"

At the mention of the _beso_ Reyna froze, absolutely shut down. She swallowed, set her cup down, folded her hands. Leo looked her in the eye but he'd never seen her so closed off. And her voice was cold when she asked, "What do you want to talk about?"

Oh, gods. His stomach dropped thirty floors on a broken elevator. _Me cago en todo lo que se menea, _he thought. "You act like you wish it hadn't happened."

"I never said that." Her hard expression said otherwise.

He ran his fingers through his hair. "You've been all, 'Don't touch me, Leo. Don't call me nicknames, Leo. Don't bring up the fact that we danced and swapped _spit_, Leo.' What else am I supposed to be getting out of that?" he demanded, like anger might block the disappointment overwhelming him.

"It's not that I—_ay_." Rubbing her mouth, Reyna closed her eyes and sighed. Without opening her eyes, she waved her hand at him: "We were both hopped up on adrenaline and a week's worth of late nights. I think we can both agree that it probably wouldn't have happened otherwise."

She wanted to blame it on the timing, pass it off as nothing? By all the gods, hadn't she _been_ there? Felt what he'd felt? She had to _know_ he—but if she thought it wouldn't have happened outside of chance— "Do you wish it hadn't?" he demanded, leaning forward, his stomach bumping into the table.

"Keep your voice down!" she snapped.

"_Well?_" His voice cracked.

She chose her words carefully, like _what is the best word choice I can use to rip Leo's heart out and stomp it on the ground?_ "It's not that I . . . didn't enjoy it, or that I don't like you." The way she said it, it meant exactly that. "It's just that I have responsibilities here, and I can't jeopardize that with scandalous behavior. Nothing is worth that." Nothing, or no one.

A scandal. That was all he was, a scandal, and a repair boy she was afraid to be caught in public with. Turning his head so he didn't have to see her, he tugged his suspenders off the table and snatched up his empty coffee cup, his fingertips crunching into it.

"I would hate to jeopardize your responsibilities, praetor," he said, cold himself for once, eyes on his hands. "Don't worry. You won't have any more trouble from me."

Shoving his chair away from the table, Leo stood up and walked away, nausea tight in his stomach. Jaw clenched, brow drawn, eyes burning, he threw his crumpled cup into the trash can without looking back.


	6. Frustration and Reconciliation

_A/N: Sorry this is so late. I just . . . I have trouble sometimes. *slinks away into the shadows*_

_I started this chapter during a sugar coma last Thursday. Channeling my inner Reyna, I dumped several spoonfuls of gummy bears on top of a big bowl of ice cream and ate the _whole_ thing. I still can't quite bring myself to regret it._

* * *

"Go—in—the damn—socket!" Leo pounded on the misshapen plug with each word, grunting in satisfaction when it finally did fall into place. Angry punk rock blared around him in the _Argo_ workshop, as he'd realized half an hour ago that anger, like running, conveniently put off pain. He couldn't really be angry at any one target—maybe Reyna, maybe himself, maybe the situation as a whole—but instead of trying to figure one out, he just attacked his half-finished projects with a vengeance.

At noon Jason poked his head in the door, looking concerned by the music choice. "You coming to lunch?" he asked—or rather, shouted—a couple of times before Leo heard. Turning off the speakers for a second, Leo set down his hammer on the table with a thunk, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

"No thanks," he grumbled. "Not really hungry."

Jason gave him a weird look. "You okay, man? You seem a little—"

"I'm fine," he snapped. "Just got a thing that's—not working like I wanted it to." Entirely true, even if it sounded like he meant machinery. Jason shrugged and left, and Leo turned back to his work, but with the angry music off, his anger dissolved back into a mess of sadness and disappointment, and he slid into his seat, dropping his face into his grease-splotched hands.

Gods, he'd known he'd rushed in, and he knew that was just how he operated, not much to be done. The rest of the Seven liked to make "faster than Leo falling for a girl out of his league" jokes. But she'd reciprocated, at least he'd thought she had, especially that last night in Bunker Nine. Hot flaming damn, that dance, and that _kiss_. But apparently his girl radar was even more sucktastic than usual, because she'd made it pretty clear that that wasn't happening again. It didn't sound like she wanted to see him at all, as in ever. It was basically the same thing that always happened; it just got a little farther than usual this time.

But why would she have let him see under her armor if she was going to drop him as soon as she got back home? It seemed strange to spend time and effort forging what he had thought was a decent friendship (or more) and then burn it after one week. Man, he was just confused.

Trying to shrug it off, Leo pulled off the shelf a clock robot that was forever going off when it wasn't supposed to. He accidentally made it worse.

* * *

Leo couldn't avoid society forever, though—he was plenty hungry by dinnertime, and he was going to run out of projects to fix if he kept going at this rate, so reluctantly he left the _Argo II_ and went to the mess hall for his first decent meal of the day. He immediately regretted it. The conversation was loud and rowdy, something he would have been thrilled to contribute to on any other day. People moved from couch to couch with grins on their faces and plenty of food on their plates.

And, her eyes on her empty plate, Reyna almost ran into him.

"Excuse me," she said automatically, sounding and looking like she wasn't completely there, but when she looked up and focused on him he couldn't see through it. If she felt anything, she hid it well. Well, so could he. He'd always wondered how it would feel to use the cold-shoulder mask instead of the arrogance-and-jokes one.

"No, excuse _me_, Reyna," he replied, the English R hard as steel on his jaw. She used to like being called _reina_, or at least skillfully pretended to like it (very skillfully, if she could make herself blush), but he figured nicknames were off-limits when he was scandal-zoned.

She looked him in the eye, unreadable. But she said nothing, so he brushed past her to get to the rest of the Seven, trying to ignore the ache of missing her, missing her presence and her sweet tooth and her quiet humor and the way she attracted his favorite inventions.

"Are you okay?" Piper asked him as he dropped onto the couch beside her and caught the plate of pizza hurtling toward him. It was pepperoni, his favorite, but he could barely poke at it.

"I'm fine," he said, forcing a grin. "Oh, wait, sorry, you didn't ask how I _looked_."

Six people rolled their eyes. He glanced back to where he'd bumped into Reyna—she was still standing there, looking over at them, or maybe just at him. Hurriedly looking away, he stuck a slice of pizza into his mouth and turned to interrupt Jason and Piper's snuggling session.

* * *

Let no one ever say that Leo couldn't learn from his mistakes: after that dinner he stayed in his workshop morning, noon, and night to avoid running into Reyna again. If he saw her across the room, he went in the opposite direction. For the next day and a half, he barely came out even to see the rest of the Seven. A few times they came to visit him, but mostly they went off in their pairs and left him to work alone. Seemed nobody had a problem with leaving the repair boy.

But when Annabeth forced Reyna to join the Seven for lunch on Tuesday, Leo could barely stand it. The daughter of Athena had just_ five minutes_ before been lecturing him about how he'd apparently broken Reyna (yeah, _he_ was to blame for that), and now he got to sit next to the praetor as she cut her steak into little bite-size pieces and clearly tuned out of the conversation, other than a few absent _fine_s when addressed. Granted, he wasn't really following it either. She was way too close for him to think about anything else, even though she refused to look at him. He was acutely aware of her weight on the couch, the clink of her fork every time she set it down on her plate.

And Leo was reasonably content to miss Reyna from across the couch, but then lunch finished up and he had to get up and follow her out . . . because Jason, good friend and _idiota_, had decided it would be a good idea to send _him_ as her automaton dog mechanic. Yes, okay, he was the best at what he did—but come on, man, give a guy a break. She didn't even wait for him to catch up with her; she just strode down the Via P-whatever and expected him to follow. _I mean, I_ _**will**__,_ he admitted to himself, _but she could at least pause out of courtesy._ There was no conversation, not even any sneaky sideways glances. Holy Hephaestus, this was going to be a miserable repair job.

She held the door open for him when they got to her villa, and her expression was stony until she turned and saw the absolute mess that was the inside. "Oh my gods," she gasped, and he didn't blame her. Oil, oil everywhere, and not a drop to grease an engine with. Had she forgotten to put the drippy dogs away when she went to lunch? That seemed distracted, not to mention kind of dumb, both of which were unlike her. He wasn't sure how often she had to clean up a mess like this, but he had plenty of spill-cleaning supplies in his workshop, assuming she'd let him stick around long enough to help.

But now she was spinning on her heel like she was looking for something. Oh, she was: she stepped into the kitchen and found two pitiful-looking automaton dogs. Aurum was crumpled in a corner of the kitchen, oil pooling on the tile underneath him, and his silver brother was huddled under the cabinets. Reyna dropped to her knees beside her gold greyhound, hovering her hands over his shuddering back. If he had to guess, she wanted to help but had no idea how to.

"It wasn't this bad before," she mumbled, sticking her fingers into the oily gaps. Then, to his surprise, she turned to look up at him, and her stone mask of the last few days was totally gone. She was anxious for her pets, maybe even a little bit scared. She had mentioned a sister in passing, but he wasn't sure how close they were, and it occurred to him, looking at her with the dogs now, that the automatons might be the closest things she had to family at camp.

"What's _wrong_ with them?" she asked, a little faintly.

He shook himself and knelt beside her on the tile, reaching for his tool belt as he looked the dog over with an experienced, analytical eye. It was a complex system, but not above his level, and he found the challenge a little invigorating compared to all the straightforward, boring repairs back home, like Jake's iPod. This, this was good, and the dog wasn't even trying to eat him.

The most obvious solution was that it was a simple leak. But the farther Leo got, the more convinced he became that something had gone wrong in the innermost circuits. Daring to sneak only a brief glance in her direction, he asked, "Have they gotten into any foreign materials, that you recall?"

She was staring at them blankly, and it took her a second to reply. Distracted again. What about? "Sorry?"

He averted his eyes as soon as she looked him in the face. No need to start anything. "I asked if you knew of anything weird that could have gotten in their systems. Food, plants, anything."

She shrugged and rubbed her eyes. Was she tired? "Dunno," she said, another thing to add to the quickly growing list of things unlike her. Slurred words and inattentiveness. "They might have rolled in something during a run."

"Hmm. I'll have to take out their control panels and dig around," he warned her as he stuck both hands in his tool belt. Time to pull out the big guns—well, really, the small guns. He needed his fancy tools to handle the delicate inner workings of such a high-class automaton. Hmm, this might be a good time to take notes—not actual notes, he didn't have time for that, or a pen—mental notes. The tile floor was impeccably clean where oil wasn't pooling. Reyna was microwaving two mugs of milk. _Dios mio, at least __**try**__ to concentrate, ADHD poster kid, _he told himself, but his fingers were jittery. Popping an Altoid into his mouth, he exhaled and set in for close, clean work.

He put the dog in sleep mode and extracted the control panel. Yep, the problem was all in here. Some of the wiring was a little loose, which would have been unimportant except for the wads of what seemed like weirdly random material that had gotten into Aurum's workings, just enough to block the routes of life-giving oil. Wads of sticky tack, chunks of sappy pinecones, metal shavings. Maybe the dogs had been rolling in weird stuff. But he doubted that. They were smarter than that, plus all this stuff wouldn't just be lying around. So maybe, just maybe, given the really spectacular randomness of it, it had happened intentionally. But it would take time, effort, personal knowledge of the dogs. And what kind of _hijo de puta_ held that kind of a grudge?

He didn't break out of his thoughts until it registered that Reyna had cleared her throat, twice. He wasn't sure if it was intentional until she actually said, "A-_hem_." People still actually said that? Whatever—he looked up. Not like he had much of a choice, really. Reyna generally got his attention whether she asked for it or not.

"Whenever you're done, can we talk?" she said, holding her chin just high enough that he thought she might be bluffing confidence. "I made hot chocolate."

"Um," he said, rolling his jaw like a machine figuring out its own workings. "Sure."

"Okay," she said, sitting down by Argentum.

At that point he was mostly done, so he tightened up all the loose ends, double-checked that he hadn't missed anything, and then got up and washed his hands in the kitchen sink. Argentum wasn't nearly as bad as Aurum, so he could wait until after The Talk, whatever she wanted to Talk about. Reyna sat down at the bar, pulled the mugs and candy toward herself, and gestured with two fingers for him to sit next to her. When he did, she passed him one of the mugs and set the bowl on the counter between them.

Leo looked from her to the bowl to her again. "I don't want your pity jelly beans," he said, hoping to sound unflinching and cold, like a brash love-'em-and-leave-'em Casanova, even though they both knew he wasn't one. And he wavered, uncertain. Did she want to talk about their Thing?

"They're there if you change your mind," she said, taking some herself. Well, at least he knew they weren't poisoned—he regretted that as soon as he thought it. Nervously fidgeting with a mini-automaton from the belt, he sipped his hot chocolate and waited for her to start.

Without looking away from her mug, Reyna inhaled deeply and said something that came as a pleasant surprise: "I'm sorry that I offended you."

His eyebrows jumped of their own accord.

"I didn't mean to, I just—" she continued, tripping over herself a little as she tried to explain. "Words don't work very well for me. Octavian makes the eloquent speeches. I _do_ things, make things happen. Whenever I try to say anything—" She waved her hand in the air like an explosion worthy of Transformers. "—bad things happen."

"I believe that." Leo cringed; he immediately realized that agreeing with her insulting herself was probably not the best way to get her to like him. Not that he was fooling himself about that anymore. Much. "But whatever your level of speaking ability, I mean, you made it pretty clear that you weren't interested." For example, making excuses for the most fantastic kiss of all time, or saying he wasn't worth it. "Which is, you know, normal for me, I'm used to it, but . . ." He held his breath, hoping.

Reyna glanced at her palm. "It wasn't that. What I had been trying to get at was . . ." She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together thoughtfully. "I didn't think I could handle spending so much time with you, on top of my work. And if anyone saw me slacking off, with a Greek no less, there are some that would have my neck for it." She shook her head, almost like she had to get a particular image out of her head, then looked at her palm again. Curious, Leo reached out and flipped her hand over, revealing several lines of her handwriting in blue ballpoint ink.

"Notes?" he asked incredulously.

"Talking points," she clarified. "So I don't forget anything."

Normally when he had something to say, he just let his mouth run until it came out. Leo tried not to smile as he looked the list over and mouthed the words to himself.

_1. Apologize._

_2. Explain._

_3. How now._

_4. Offer to retry conversation._

_5. If positive, offer closed doors._

Holy Hephaestus, she was serious about this conversation. Which made him feel a little bad for finding her need for "talking points" notes so funny.

"Number three is 'how now.' What does that mean?" he asked.

Reyna tried to pull her hand back, but he held onto it, enjoying how warm and solid she felt. "I was leading into that," she said, looking thrown off that he'd caught her. "Like I said, I thought it wouldn't work, but it turns out the exact opposite is true. Everything seems worse since we argued. I'm getting almost no work done, I can't concentrate, I'm hardly sleeping, and I'm _miserable_." Really? That was the best worst news he'd heard all week. "And . . . I think you are too." Finally looking up at him, she stared at him, her brow creased.

Well, she was dead right, but he traced a line under the next item on her palm. "Four, 'offer to retry conversation.' What conversation?"

"At the café," she said, and her free hand went to her shoulder to nervously rub the edge of her cape. "You wanted to talk about the kiss, and I asked what part you wanted to talk about, and you said—"

"Do you wish it hadn't happened?" Leo said, suddenly feeling every piece of food he'd eaten at lunch.

"And I never actually answered the question."

He took a shaky breath. "Well?" Did he even want to hear the answer? It might be nicer to live the rest of his life in blissful ignorance that she didn't—

"I like you," Reyna blurted, leaning toward him. "I like you a _lot_."

Leo's hair burst into flames. "Really?"

"And I liked kissing you a lot too," she continued all in a rush, blushing dark pink. "Esp—especially when you catch on fire."

"Holy He_phae_stus," he muttered, his mind exploding in a million different directions. How did she, why did she—and if she did—why had she—but right now he didn't much _care_, as long as they ended up together. "Wait," he said, tapping his index fingers together rapidly as he sorted this new information out, "so I could kiss you right now, and you wouldn't—?"

"Hang on! I didn't get to say number five yet!" Reyna cried, pulling her hand a little towards herself so she could look down at the last item on the list.

He'd forgotten what it was, he'd forgotten everything. "If it's 'friend zone Leo,' I'm taking your dogs hostage," he warned.

She cracked a smile, the first he'd seen since Camp Half-Blood, and read the last item aloud. "Number five: if positive"—she glanced at his flaming hair and shrugged—"offer closed doors."

What was that, secret girl code? "What's it mean?"

"It means I still have to be a respectable praetor," she explained, her fingers closing around his. "But . . . if you'd be okay with keeping everything private, maybe we could work it out."

"Private meaning . . .?"

"Meaning no PDA when we're around other people. Getting coffee is okay, but otherwise no dates outside of your workshop or my villa. No hugging, no nicknames, _definitely_ no kissing in public. But if no one's around, fair game."

"'Offer closed doors,' as in _behind_ closed doors. Got it." He stroked his chin and nodded as sagely as he could.

She took a deep breath. "So would that be oka—?"

"Yes!"

And then Reyna smiled at Leo, a proper smile, earning his absolute silliest grin in return. By some miracle, he had his queen back, and this time he was going to keep her.


	7. Leo and Octavian Talk

_A/N: I guess I just really needed a break from writing. Just a few days before Leyna week starts! Skipping ahead a little because reasons. I'll come back to the nightmare scene later maybe._

* * *

Leo was guarding the northwest corner of Team I's territory (on Jason's orders) when Octavian appeared. The Super-Sized McShizzle normally didn't look twice at the augur, who was as skinny as _he_ was and twice as sickly-looking, but for war games Mr. Sickly Scrawny Stuffed-Animal-Killer had his knife out, so Leo kept both eyes on him, even though it was just the two of them. Maybe partially _because_ it was just the two of them.

"If you're looking for the loser's side, it's that way," Leo said, pointing helpfully back the way Octavian had come.

The augur was unamused. "Yes, I heard your wit matched your stature." Then, before Leo could bring out the big guns of sarcasm, he changed topics: "A little bird told me that you got volunteered to fix Reyna's dogs the other day. How did that go for you?"

Leo's brow creased. They hadn't told anyone about that, and he doubted any of the Seven would have told Octavian. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side, hoping to suppress the fire sparking suspicious and angry across his knuckles.

Octavian treated him to a condescending smile, contemptuous, no warmth in it. Colder than the most evil part of Canada in wintertime. "I will grant you, you must have at least a little bit of talent if you got the dogs running again. That particular problem was supposed to be near unfixable."

Furious fire burst across Leo's hands, up his forearms. "It was _you!"_

"Cleverly deduced."

The megaphone blared, announcing the end of the game, but Leo only stood and glared. "You son of a—_cabrón. Capullo_. She loves those greyhounds. How dare you even _touch_—"

"I was trying to prove a point. I succeeded, by the way." Octavian, the smug bastard, began to walk away. Leo slipped in the mud, scrambling to catch up.

"What point?" Leo ground out, suppressing the impressive list of insults that came to mind. "That you have no shame?"

"I suspected that Reyna's loneliness had made her desperate," the augur said, haughty as he stepped out onto the Field of Mars. "Willing to do just about anything, even contaminate herself. Not very Roman, if you ask me."

Leo sucked in a breath to defend her, his lungs hot with anger, but Octavian saw it and scoffed.

"Oh, please. I think we both know there's no real interest there. On either side. The secondhand popularity is pretty nice for you, isn't it? Finally got a girl. And she's been pining after the other boys for so long, it's gotten to where she'll jump in bed with any male who makes a pass at her. It's dirty, disgusting—"

"Don't _ever_ talk about Reyna like that!" Leo exploded, shoving the augur from behind.

But he wasn't very strong, and Octavian only swung to face him like he thought he was king or something. "Anyway, the point is, I was right. She's been sneaking around, lying, not to mention having a scandalous affair with the _least_ trusted Greek available"—his lip curled—"so I'm afraid that puts our praetor in quite the precarious position."

"Reyna's never lied, not once. And if you think you can—"

"She _will_ be discharged," he said, chin high, as if dismantling an innocent girl's career were something to write home about. "I'm going to take her place. It's about time _someone_ got Camp Jupiter back on track. And what are you going to do about it?" The augur looked at him the way he might a centipede—something disgusting but small and insignificant. In a moment his blade was out, pointing at Leo, waving in slow, sarcastic little circles. "You're just a dirty little Greek. It's almost pitiful. At least I don't have to look too hard for examples of Reyna's poor choices."

"Reyna's choices are none of your _business_." Leo's tone was harsh, brash, because he absolutely meant it.

Octavian stepped forward again, his grip tighter around his knife. Something about that had gotten to him, to the apparent root of the matter—he scowled as he spoke, getting angrier, the words screwing up his face. "It's my business who's dirtying _Rome_, some _graecus_ polluting the name of—"

Then, out of nowhere: "Octavian, _stop_!" Reyna was running up to them, looking fiercely beautiful (and maybe a little worried?) even with mud spattered up her legs, and she looked way too pissed to take any of the legacy's crap.

"Speaking of polluted," the augur sneered, his knife still up and pointed at Leo.

"Go back to the others," she ordered, glaring. "Don't ever let me catch you bad-mouthing our allies again."

"The others are here." He gestured back at the two camps' worth of demigods that were slowly following her across the field, coming closer to the three of them. Leo felt his hair catch fire as he looked back to Reyna, but she was looking right at Octavian, her posture tense. "Oh, sure. _I'm_ the danger," the augur said when he read the reason for her focus. "_I'm_ not the praetor throwing my home and honor down the aqueduct for, what? A roll in the hay with a _graecus_?"

"There was no hay involved," Leo snapped sarcastically, without thinking, tired of the slurs.

Octavian's expression darkened, his knuckles whitening. "You dishonor yourself," he told Reyna. "You dishonor the legion, you dishonor _Rome_. You even manage to dishonor Greece, which takes skill given its already remarkable disgrace."

Leo scrubbed water from his eyes as it began to rain again, coming down hard from the dark summer afternoon skies. It sizzled against his skin where his fire still burned, furious at the slights against Reyna's character. She stood her ground, giving none to the augur.

"In the midst of all this dishonorable talk of allies, I wonder if you've forgotten that allies are meant to be temporary. You liaise, you win, you separate." Octavian stepped toward Leo, his knife out, heels gritted into the dirt. "And if a former ally puts you or your people in danger, then you fight back, and you _kill them_."

Lightning cracked in the dark afternoon sky, and Leo barely followed the corresponding flash of the augur's hand, slashing forward—into _him_. The tip of the blade broke the skin under his navel and kept going, then jerked up. The entire world went white for a moment—burning, flaming white—the worst pain he had ever endured. Worse even than the tanker explosion, since he'd at least been able to pass out after that.

When Leo faded back into regular vision, the knife was at least out of him, but even as he swore mindlessly and pressed his hands against the dripping red gash, the pain pulsed through his entire body, begging for him to stop feeling, please, please. His legs gave out and, grimacing, he felt himself sink to the ground, the mud soaking into his clothes, cold and wet and sticky. The rain drenched him where the mud didn't. He thought he might have cared more if he didn't feel his life leaving him through his open stomach.

This was bad, so bad. His sense of humor, his sometimes-false optimism, left him. This was definitely worse than the tanker, a thousand times worse. He felt himself shaking but couldn't stop. Every time he blinked, he struggled to reopen his eyes.

But when he did, when he forced his eyes open and focused, he at least found the most amazing girl in the world at his side. Reyna leaned over him, and it just barely registered in his mind that there were tears, not just rain, streaming down her face. She was so close, so very close, and he wouldn't have asked for anyone else, but the way she looked at him . . .

He tried to lift his head, but it only dropped back into the mud, so he just squinted around his torso at the wound. He pressed his fingers weakly to the wound—immediately he recoiled, squeezing his eyes shut at the unexpected shocking force of the pain.

"Don't touch it, don't touch it," Reyna whispered, tugging his fingers away from the wound and then not letting go. The blackness lingered at the edge of his vision even after he reopened his eyes to look at her. Her lips moved—was she saying something?—but he didn't catch it.

So much red. He strained to breathe. "There's a lot of—"

"I know, I know," she said, her voice choked and quiet. It was getting harder to focus on her, but he felt her hand stroke his shivering cold muddy cheek.

"Really cold, _reina_," Leo sighed shakily. "And tired." His lids were closing, and he didn't think he had the strength to open them again. At least she'd kept her promise: he did see her after the game.

"No, stay awake," she ordered, her face crinkling up as she tried to stop crying. "Don't . . . please . . ."

But she was fading, everything was fading, and if she was still talking he couldn't hear her.

Then his world went black, and the pain finally went away, because he couldn't feel anything anymore.


	8. hiatus notice

Hey, guys.

I'm sorry, I should have put this up earlier, but to be honest I posted it on Tumblr and then forgot to post it here.

I'm drained.

And I need to get back to my original novels and my schoolwork. :'( So even though I have tons of potential ideas and half-finished drafts for Leyna fics, I honestly can't write anymore. **So "Meeting Reyna" is officially on hiatus.**

I'll still probably post stuff every so often, when I'm really inspired. But right now it's become a bit of a chore and I need all my writing energy.

Again, I'm so sorry. You guys are awesome, and I hope you understand.

Peace and love,

Holly


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